Chorus of Screams
by Genesis Grey
Summary: A worker in the oldest occupation gets a visit from one of her more unusual clients. *Repost*


Yo, readers!: I'm reposting this under the R rating. I originally posted this as NC-17 simply to go with the higher rating just in case, but since I really don't think this has anything that wouldn't been seen or said in an R movie (watch Wild Things or Cruel Intentions or Eyes Wide Shut). Buuuuuuut, just as a warning... this fic is highly sexual and has abusive language and actions, but I swear it's good.

::Chorus of Screams::

You get a lot of kinks in this business. 

Of course, often the kinkiness is the reason I get the business. Seriously. Roleplaying is the big thing though, in my experience. I get guys that want naughty nurses and teachers to give them examinations and discipline them; and guys that want to give me an examination and discipline that disobedient school girl. I get a lot of guys that just want to do things their wives or girlfriends refuse to do. Occasionally I get girls too. The strangest people hire me. I've had men hire me to sit and listen to them for an hour. I've had widowers hire me to pretend to be their wives. I even had a woman hire me to pretend to be her dead husband once. She figured it wasn't cheating on his spirit if it was with a girl. 

This guy reminds me of that woman in some ways. 

He's a semi-regular. Every few months he comes and picks me up and we go to a hotel kinda near Tokyo Tower. Same hotel. Same room. Every time. 

He's definitely what I'd call a queer man, and I mean that in the strange connotation, though I'm pretty sure he could fit in the other category as well. Unlike most guys he doesn't have me take off my clothes, he actually have me put more on. Smokey gray double-breasted suit and a damn nice black trench coat that he provides. When I was younger I would have sold my mother for a coat like this. The first time we did this he had me bind my breasts, to give me a flatter effect I'm guessing. He wants me to smoke too, amazingly one of the habits I never picked up. 

It's pretty fucking obvious he wants me to be some guy he knows or used to know. The first couple time I tried to get him to go to a man. I even suggested a few, told him who was a good submissive bottom and who was a demanding top. But he just gave my short dark hair and glass eye a look and said he'd decided on me. 

Best I can figure is he doesn't think being with me is cheating on this mysterious someone. 

He asked me how I got my glass eye once and I told him in the sex industry there was a niche market for everything I didn't want to talk about the eye thing. He looked at me for a moment, but didn't push it. Strange guy that way. 

I smooth down the lapels and make sure the suit's jacket is falling like it would on a guy. When I'm satisfied I put on the sunglasses and light up a cigarette, trying not to burst into a fit of coughing as I look at the note he handed me. It's kind of a script of what to say and this has to be the most abusive one yet. 

I'm not a sociologist, but after a few years turning tricks you begin to notice things about people. At least in terms of sexuality. 

He's not a virgin, but he isn't the village bicycle. I doubt it's ever crossed his mind to have multiple partners. By the look in his green eyes once upon a time he believed in true love and all that shit. Then he got fucked over both mentally and physically. By the little scripts he writes for me it wasn't the kindest of fuckings either. Why does he have me help him reenact them? 

He's a kink. A nice kink, but still a kink. 

I look up at him with my good eye. He's sitting on the end of the bed, looking out the window as he waits for me to get ready. He's a good looking guy. A bit on the thin side though, I don't think he eats enough. His black hair is cut short and he's always dressed in dark clothes these days. When we first met he wore gray sweatshirts and jeans, didn't seem to give a damn about his appearance. And I sweat to God his eyes looks different now. One is still the same sad green it's always been, but the other is just… creepy. 

I take a last look at the things I'm supposed to say then crumple the paper into my pocket. I take a drag off my cigarette, amazing myself by not choking to death, and hope he doesn't expect me to smoke the entire package of mild sevens. 

I walk toward him, careful to put on a confident stride, and push him back on the bed. I'm his height so I can pull off the intimidating act as I straddle his hips and grab his wrists. I pin them over his head, making sure to press down with most of my weight, as I get the cockiest smirk I can manage on my face. 

He looks up at me, at my glass eyes and goes still. I know he's not seeing or hearing me any more. 

I don't say anything for a minute. I just take the cigarette and put it out in the bedside ashtray as I press a little harder on his wrists. He wriggles his nose in discomfort and I start to give him what he pays for. 

My right hand keeps a grip on his wrist while my left hand caresses his chest, all the while I'm smirking down at him like some sort of jackass. He wriggles as if to get away from me when I move off him and my hand drops down to touch his inner thighs. And the wriggling is my cue. 

I tell him that I know he likes this, isn't it what he wanted all that year. Isn't that what Hokuto wanted for him. He lets out a mourning cry at the mention of the name, but I ignore it and My hand moves upwards as I keep talking. I ask him isn't this what his cute little mind fantasized about. I ask him if he ever took off those adorable outfit matching gloves and touched himself to imagine what it'd be like or if all that was just too much for such an innocent and foolish mind. 

My hand grabs at the bulge of his dark jeans. He moans and I have to adjust my grip on his wrists so he doesn't get away from me. I continue my verbal barrage while teasing him until he's good and hard, then I move my hand away. 

His eyes are closed as he bucks in the air. His hips trying to make contact with something. I straddle him again, using my weight to restrict his movement. I force him to be still as I tell him he's usually considerate enough to think of others pleasure before his own. I don't say that I think who ever actually said this shit is a bastard, after all I'm not paid for my opinion. 

He whimpers at me and apologizes. I lean down and kiss him. At first it's the most boring kiss I've ever had. Lips to lip with nothing but pressure behind them. The kiss of someone who has no clue what they're doing. I let it go on for a few more moments, after all, this part we've danced before. Then I force his mouth open and let my tongue in. The kiss is crude and uncaring. It's the type of kiss where all the pleasure is felt by the kisser, not the kissed. It's the type of kiss I've gotten from asshole after asshole. Seems to be the only way he knows how to be kissed. 

I probe around his mouth for a bit until he seems comfortable with it and then I pull away. His eyes open again and, as always, I can tell that he's not seeing me or even this time. He's lost in a memory somewhere. But this time it's only one eyes that looks like that. The other, the strange looking right eye, almost seems to be laughing, but not at me. 

With a slight shake of my head I let go of his wrists and roughly throw him onto his stomach, grabbing his left arm and twisting it behind his back as I use my other hand to push him down. My knee is between his legs, carefully positioned to rub against him. 

I lean down, my lips brushing his ear as I give his arm a twist like I plan to break it, and I tell him he means nothing to me. That he's like a glass cup, to be broken without a care when I'm done with him. 

Damn, that's mean. 

I tell him he lost the bet and that I don't care about him and I never had, but that it's oh-so-cute that he though I did. I tell him how fun it's been being the gentle and kind veterinarian, but that it's over now and it's time to play adult games. 

I press his arm upward and give it another twist. He lets out a yell and for a moment I'm afraid I might have actually broken his arm, but he calms down into a fit of crying that I'm used to by now. I can't help but pity the kid. Whoever it was that did this to him fucked him up so badly I don't think he would know how to handle a normal relationship. 

I release his arm and he lets out a pitiful sound as he draws it against his chest for protection. I stifle a sigh. At this point in the charade I start to get a little uncomfortable, getting this stuff inflicted on myself is one thing, but inflicting it is another. But I have bills to pay and he really seems to want me to or he'd stop coming. 

My hand moves under him, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. He lets out a shocked squawk and tries to stop me, but I grab his arm. Again I lean close and whisper into his ear. I ask him if he loves me or if he was just lying that night on Tokyo Tower. I ask him if those were just misleading words, commonly known as lies. 

He's silent for a moment before he says he loves me or rather the man I'm playing. Then I ask him what people in love physically do to show their feelings. He blushes a bright red that I think is adorable and he only does it when he's in this time paradox or whatever state. Very cute, though I wish he didn't have tears running down his face. 

The green eye looks up at me, striking against the red of his cheeks. Shyly he tells me that they have intercourse. Oh, that's just too cute, I hear it called fucking so much that hearing sex is strange. Intercourse is just adorable. Unfortunately what I have to do next is not. 

I put on the most asshollish grin I can pull off as I look down at him. I tell him that he's right and if he truly loves me he'll let me do what I want to him. He looks up at me as if he has no response to that and looks away in deference. I pull off his pants and underwear in a quick motion and he squeaks, trying to cover up. I push him back down on his chest, which I can only imagine is painful on his erection. 

I touch his back stroking down until I touch his ass. I gently fondle it a little more than I should before running my finger between the two cheeks and find the puckered little hole. I close my eyes for a moment then thrust as many fingers as I can in. He screams. 

These are adult games I tell him and he only whimpers in response. 

It's over soon enough and I can't help but be glad. I don't really like to be cruel, especially when I can tell it's really hurting someone. But that's what he pays me for and the customer is always right. 

I'm lying on the bed finishing a cigarette. Sadly I'm getting used to it. I'm going to be annoyed if I get addicted. He's curled up next to me, cuddling my shoulder. Tears still on his face, clothing stripped off, bruises on his wrists from all the pressure I was putting on them, his own cum dirtying his stomach. I really wish he'd let me give him a blowjob just once. I wouldn't even charge him for it. 

I put out the cigarette and close my eyes for a moment. I can't help but wonder who the Hokuto person was who was in the script today. He moves and I open my eyes. He looks at me a moment in a daze and says that it's not the right eye. I raise an eyebrow, but don't say anything. If he says it's not the right eye than it's not the right eye. I'm not bullying him any more tonight without substantial pay. 

He moves as if to head toward the shower and I close my eyes again. He's coming back from the dreamlike state he goes into. I've learned it's best not to confuse him anymore than he already is when he's in that state. He'll be back to stoic in a minute. 

Hands are suddenly on my neck as my eyes fly open. He's over me, straddling my waist, and pressing down as hard as he can on my neck. I try to kick, but my legs are pinned by him. I scratch at him. His arms, his chest, his hands, my vision is beginning to blur so I can't even find his face. The mace I always carry is across the room in my purse because I thought he didn't seem like the violent type. Fuck me, that tiny bit of trust is going to get me killed. 

He's crying and mumbling incoherently, like he doesn't want to do what he's doing and wishes he could stop. I certainly wish he could stop. I twist my body is a desperate attempt to get out from under him or at least let me catch my breath to scream, but he's got me. I hear him mumble something through sobs about needing to feed a tree or something strange like that. 

Then my world goes numb. Or rather explodes with pain so intense that it touches every nerve in my body and the world goes white. The white fades and the real world comes back into focus as the real numbness sets in. Actually, I think I'm dying. 

He's not choking me anymore, just looking forlorn and horrified at his blood covered hand. I try to move but I can't. It's like all my energy has been sucked out of me. I feel a strange sensation tugging at me, but not at my body. It's like someone is pulling on my spirit. 

He looks down and seems surprised to find me looking up at him. I hear him try to apologize, but I can hardly hear his voice over an all encompassing voice, like a chorus. A chorus of screams. 

I manage to mumble a comment about how terrible the sound and nearly choke as blood bubbles out of my mouth. I'm glad most of the feeling in my body is gone as the blood dribbles down my chin. I don't think I'd like that feeling. 

He's standing now and he's finally stopped crying. His face is cold and impersonal, as if he's done this a dozen times before. I can't help but wonder if he has. One eye looks smugly satisfied, while the other terrified and sad. Such a strange expression I think. Too drained to even be angry at the fact he killed me. 

He turns away, holding out the hand still covered with my blood, and mumbling some words I can't understand. The tugging on my spirit, soul, whatever the fuck people call it becomes a hard yank. 

The world disappears and suddenly my voice joins that horrible chorus. 


End file.
